Site Mobile Navigation

A Sidewalk Bookseller With a Keen Ear for Outrage

The sidewalk bookseller recommends a slim June 1898 issue of Harper's Magazine sitting at the back of his table. It's not much to look at, with a simple black and white cover and yellowing pages. Most people do not even glance at it. The bookseller insists that they are missing one of the finest pieces of writing of the late 19th century -- an essay on the ethics of bullfighting.

"How can you know that there is something good in there unless you open it up and look inside?" the bookseller, Charles Mysak, asks, not waiting for an answer. "People don't do that. It's like everything -- they see what they want to see."

Those who walk by Mr. Mysak's bookstand on the Upper West Side may see the obvious: a middle-aged man with Coke-bottle glasses, puffing on a cigar, standing over a pair of tables crowded with used books and magazines. The hodgepodge collection includes American fiction, contemporary history and issues of Playboy from the 1950's.

These sidewalk sellers dot the city, anonymous agents of worn literature. Some, like Mr. Mysak, know their material, referring with ease to the works of A. J. Liebling and Erica Jong.

A browser who stopped by Mr. Mysak's stand for a few minutes soon learned that he is not so different from his favorite volume of Harper's -- rough around the edges, but also a little fragile. And he possesses stories that could teach an eager listener about ideals, frustrations and failure.

In 10 minutes, a visitor may learn that Mr. Mysak, 55, admires the contrarians of history. He quotes H. L. Mencken with a wide smile.

Government is the "enemy of all decent, well-disposed and industrious men," he recites, pausing to make sure he remembers the quote properly.

In 15 minutes, a curious visitor might discover that Mr. Mysak is a committed libertarian. He wears a T-shirt with the Emancipation Proclamation silk-screened across the chest. He believes he has a constitutional right to set up shop on the streets of Manhattan and hawk his literature to anyone interested in buying.

If the visitor sticks around long enough, Mr. Mysak, a native of Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn, might begin telling his stories of New Jersey, like the time he ran for the mayor of Wayne as an independent, coming in third out of four candidates. Or when he fought the City Council on major development plans.

Mr. Mysak, educated as a lawyer, might even tell you about the time he was disbarred and convicted of siphoning money from his clients, including a charge that he stole $66,000 from a woman's inheritance. Mr. Mysak served six months in prison, paid $70,000 in restitution and lost every chance to work as a lawyer in New Jersey.

He represented himself in that case, denies any wrongdoing, and is proud that he was acquitted on six of the nine charges. ("You have to be a good lawyer to get that while you are advocating on your own," he explains.) When he was sentenced, in 2001, an article in The Record of Hackensack, N.J., noted that in his "rambling" closing argument he made references to Socrates, Hamlet and the Bible.

Mr. Mysak views his legal troubles -- both then and now -- as plots of conspiracy. He had aggressively opposed development in Bergen County and had helped to halt plans for a multimillion-dollar housing complex.

An error has occurred. Please try again later.

You are already subscribed to this email.

"There's so many dirty rats in New Jersey -- and I'm the one they come after?" he says, standing at his spot along Columbus Avenue, just south of 68th Street. "Doesn't make one bit of sense. I should have been a hero carried out of there."

There are still signs of conspiracy, and annoyances, coming from "the Man," Mr. Mysak says. When he first started his post more than 10 years ago, he was often cited by New York police officers. Once, he said, they kept his books in a station overnight.

"That's unconstitutional; that's a real outrage," he said. "We're good neighbors, watching in case people steal."

But Mr. Mysak, who takes the bus into the city from Wayne, N.J., to work as many as seven days a week between late morning and 9 p.m., says that he has not had any recent trouble.

"Now I've cultivated a relationship with the local constabulary," he says. "I can't go beyond that."

Mr. Mysak's knowledge of books and his eagerness to help others enjoy them is apparent as a man stops by and asks if he has any Stephen Hawking titles. "I don't yet," Mr. Mysak replies. "But don't worry, I'm still looking."

There are times, Mr. Mysak says, when he misses practicing law. He plans to apply to the New York bar in a few years, perhaps. But for now, the business of books is enough.

He makes enough to live and eat, he says. And does he eat well?

"Well, I don't have all my teeth, so whatever that tells you," he said.

The missing lowers are just one way Mr. Mysak resembles a sort of mad professor. He wears five layers of clothing to stay warm this time of year, with two black pashminas tied around his neck to make a scarf.

There are other ways to stay warm, too. His stogie helps, he says. He uses the restroom at Starbucks, just across the street. And when it's really cold, he asks the man who sells mittens on the block to watch his books while he spends about 20 minutes reading and warming up in Barnes & Noble, two blocks to the south.

He has no resentment for the nearby corporate giant. His own tables are what he calls "a repository and clearinghouse of the underground literature market."

On one recent morning, a man with a mesh backpack came by with a delivery of a dozen or so books. Mr. Mysak looked through them and handed one back -- Sandra Brown's "Charade." "I have to cater to crass tastes," he said, "but only a little bit."